The Clan
by Bast the bard
Summary: These guardians, united by the light, fought under the same banner to secure the people's survival. Their history is long, their deeds are many, and so long as they walk the crowded streets of the city, the halls of the tower, and the untamed wildlands on this planet and beyond...we will be safe. This is their saga. NOTE: Styled as grimoire/lore entries
1. Ghost Fragment: The Saga Begins

**Hey guys! This is my first Destiny fic, loosely based off the members of my own clan, whose names have obviously been changed to better reflect the names that are in Destiny. This is going to be styled as a series of grimoire/lore entries of the clan, so expect the length and style of each update to vary. If you like what you read, then let me know by following/favoriting! If you have any questions, criticisms, or suggestions then PM or leave a review!**

The first ones came when the city was nothing but a collection of huts and a dream beneath the dead thing that was once their protector. They were three, and when they limped into the perimeter, half dead and wearing the burnt metal of decrepit jumpships as armor, scavenged weapons on their hips and across their shoulders, the people had half a mind to turn them away.

But they were risen, and weren't shackled by greed and fear like so many others, so they stayed. Light burned within them, and with it they safeguarded the first people of the last safe haven on Earth. As the city grew in the traveler's shadow the names of the three became known by all, whispered with awe and respect by the people.

John-2. A relic of the golden age of humanity, reborn in the light, John-2 was an ancient war machine, and one of the first of the hunters. He was the first of the three to enter the meager encampment, and others have followed him ever since. The iron on his hip was his vow to the lightless people he protected, every bullet was a word, and that word was death.

Sardun. A bastion of strength, Sardun was the unbreakable shield that safeguarded the feeble sparks of humanity. The shrieking husks that came in the night and the four armed scavengers crashed and broke against Sardun like waves against a mountain, and the people were safe. The strength of the new city was equal to that of Sardun. And he was mighty.

Coval. An explorer and an adventurer, Coval led the people into the secret caches of weapons and supplies left over by humanity from before the collapse, and it was he who worked with the first engineers to flew the new generation of jumpships into the territories claimed by the scavengers. His eyes were always on the horizon, and there he saw the humanity's future.

Years filled with blood and death and destruction crawled by, the people and the risen of the settlement struggling for survival against the onslaught. But the three prevailed. As the settlement grew, fueled by rumors of the protection of the traveler and the insane hope for safety, the risen ranks swelled and the onslaught turned to a trickle. More years trickled by, and soon walls were constructed, order was established, some semblance of security was found.

The settlement became a city - the last city - and more and more survivors and outsiders made their way to humanity's new and final home. And still the risen, guardians now, increased in number.

With the flow of time came more guardians, carried along by the current to the doorstep of the three, and three they were no longer.

Laodan, Ezai, Makal, Jaul, Dom, Adol, Nic: these names and more fell in with the original three, and soon their names too would become legend.

Laodan, who carried lightning in his fist, but hope in his heart.

Ezai, the laughing death, who mocked fate and the monstrous agents it sent to raize what humanity had built.

Makal, who looked into the void of his light in search for the answers no one had thought to ask.

Jaul, whose knives carved a path for the new generation to follow.

Dom, the finest shot in the city - maybe even in history - the music of his rifle was a hymn of doom for those in his scope.

Adol, the brooding. A manifestation of the old moniker, "actions speak louder than words…".

Nic, whose lightning lit the black of the sky and lit the way for humanity's future.

These guardians, united by the light, fought under the same banner to secure the people's survival. Their history is long, their deeds are many, and so long as they walk the crowded streets of the city, the halls of the tower, and the untamed wildlands on this planet and beyond...we will be safe.

This is their saga.


	2. Ghost Fragment: The Leader

The fallen had laid siege to the town - if the collection of scrap metal huts could even be called a town - and had been picking off the exhausted defenders one by one. They came in the black of night, emerging from the inky blackness beyond the torchlight with shock pistols clutched in their bony hands and screams echoing from fanged jaws. The townsfolk had fought valiantly, driving back the fallen with whatever ancient weapons they had, but the nightly skirmishes had taken their toll.

Those who couldn't fight stayed huddled in their homes, clinging to their loved ones and praying to anything that could listen. The defenders patrolled the makeshift barricades that had been hastily constructed along the perimeter in what they hoped was a display of defiance, but in reality was a mummer's farce. Their feet dragged in the dirt, their eyes sunken and dim from sleepless nights and exhaustion. Their weapons were slung over slouched shoulders, or dragged in the dirt behind them. Many of them were unloaded.

In the darkest depths of their subconsciousness, each of them secretly wished for their own deaths. An arc bolt to the head, a shock dagger to the heart, something quick and painless...just so that they could finally sleep. But, despite these black desires, every night they had taken up their weapons and fought the fallen back. Every night watching their neighbors, friends, family fall around them.

Tonight would be their final stand. Despite their best efforts, their ammunition was nearly gone, and while of the defenders made a show of carrying their weapons, very few of them had any rounds left. When the fallen clawed their way over the walls that night, all that would be there to meet them would be hunting knives and clubs. The townspeople had discussed running, but they knew that they would never get very far, let alone to the fabled sanctuary that was being spoken of throughout the wildlands. Better to die fighting in their homes than in a ditch somewhere in the wilderness.

It was nearly noon when the alarm sounded throughout the town, the defenders rushing to the southern gate. A lone figure had stopped outside the town, a tattered cloak hiding his features from the defenders' eyes. They cocked their weapons, ordering the stranger to identify himself.

The stranger put down his hood and opened his cloak. A ripple passed through the defenders.

The stranger's armor was filthy and scarred, but that simply meant that he had survived countless battles. Clearly built for agility, their armor was a combination of lightweight metal alloy and leather, painted in woodland camouflage. The stranger's face was hidden beneath a helmet, adding to the aura of danger and mystery surrounding them. A black hand cannon hung at his hip, as did two belts of gleaming rounds.

The stranger asked why the town had been turned into a fort. The defenders hesitated before answering, calling that an army of fallen was in the area and that the stranger had better make himself scarce before nightfall.

The stranger was silent. The defenders kept their fingers on the triggers.

The stranger asked if he could enter the town to rest. The defenders ogled the stranger, dumbfounded. If you stay here you'll die, they called. The stranger didn't reply.

The defenders stared at the stranger, then looked at each other. They let the stranger enter.

The stranger took up in a home of one of the families that had been killed, staying there for the rest of the day. A few of the defenders guarded the hut to make sure that the stranger didn't try anything, but they never left. Soon word of the stranger's arrival had spread throughout the town, and a crowd of people waited in the street to catch a glimpse of the stranger, whispering to each other.

As the sky began to darken, the stranger emerged from the house and sought the defenders out. The stranger asked from which direction the fallen attacked. West, the defenders answered. We think they're living in the grotto on the other side of the hill, they said.

The stranger nodded, thanked the defenders for their hospitality, and walked out the West gate. They called for the stranger to stop, yelling that he was going the wrong way and that the fallen would surely attack soon. If the stranger heard them, he gave no indication of it, disappearing into the treeline.

Not too long after, the sound of gunfire came echoing through the trees to the town. The defenders sounded the alarm and scrambled to their posts, waiting and listening for the fallen to descend for the last time. They crouched behind their barricades, listening to the thundering of the fallen's guns along with an unfamiliar cracking report.

The defenders whispered to each other as the distant battle continued, unsure of what was happening and what to do. Eventually, the gunfire stopped, and the defenders prepared themselves for the end.

A cry suddenly sounded from one of the defenders. A blue light was making its way closer to the town from the Western forest. The defenders watched the treeline through the scopes of their weapons, their fingers twitching on the triggers. The blue light came closer...and closer...and closer...until it was just inside the treeline.

As the light was about to emerge, one of the defenders fired a single shot into the treeline, calling out for whoever was there to identify themselves. The blue light paused for a moment, then continued forward out of the trees. The defenders gasped.

There, with a fallen weapon slung over one shoulder and the hand cannon in their hand, was the stranger. His ammo belt was nearly empty, and his cloak had been slashed in the back and scorched from arc bolts, but that's not what grabbed the defenders' attention.

Floating by his side, radiating blue light, was a small white robot. The defenders gaped at the stranger.

The robot called to the defenders, saying that the fallen wouldn't be bothering them anymore. The defenders gawked, dumbstruck. They had heard the stories, but they had never once thought they were true. Stories of soldiers armed with magic and lead, raised from the dead and made immortal by small white robots, gifted with the power of the traveler. The Risen.

The defenders poured from the town, followed closely by the rest of the townspeople. They surrounded the stranger, thanking him with tears in their eyes, reaching out to shake their hand or touch them. The stranger held up his hands, trying to hold the crowd at bay.

What can we do to repay you? The town asked. You've saved us all.

The stranger was silent, and once the townspeople had settled down he spoke.

"What can you tell me about the Traveler?"


End file.
